The Forests of Silence

The past he remembers - Debussy Clair de Lune

"Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks." - Aahana Sharma

It was still dark outside when Gale woke up. 

Realizing she was still naked and Newton shirtless, she squirmed frantically, trying to reach for her clothes. Sensing Gale's movement, Newton's eyes fluttered open. He yawned and closed his eyes again. 

"It's still early, Gale. Go back to sleep," Newton tucked Gale under the cover, trapping her in his arms. 

She couldn't go back to sleep though. The memory of yesterday flooded her as she laid in silence, wide awake. Gale watched Newton sleeping instead. She lightly touched Newton's scars with her fingertip, careful not to wake him up. 

The scars varied in shapes, sizes, and depths. It covered his entire back as well as some of his chest. 

Where did Newton get them? And how? 

Gale wondered as her fingertip faintly rested on one of the scars on Newton's rib. 

"...They are pretty hideous, right?" Newton spoke quietly, his eyes still closed. 

Gale jumped. She thought Newton was asleep. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Gale stammered. 

Newton slowly opened his eyes. 

"I got that one when I was six. I was caught stealing," Newton talked about it as if he was talking about what he ate for breakfast. 

"What about this one?" Gale touched the scars on his back. 

"I don't recall much about the ones on my back. I got them when I was very little." 

"And this one?" Gale traced the deepest scar on his left chest. 

"That one..." Newton paused, looking down at his chest. 

"... I did it to myself."

Gale's hand stopped on that scar.

"Obviously, it didn't work out as I planned," Newton laughed, trying to make it sound a little lighter. 

Gale stared at the scars, still speechless. There was a world out there that she had no idea about, and she wanted to know more, more about Newton.

"Tell me about you, Newton," Gale pressed her forehead on Newton's chest. 

.

.

Newton Frost. 

Newton hated his name for as long as he can remember. Nothing good happened when someone called him by his name. 

Nobody exactly told him where he came from, but he heard bits and pieces from the caretakers. He was born from an affair. His mother passed away shortly after giving birth to him. His father, Anthony Frost, an aristocrat, couldn't care for him less. 

Newton grew up in the furthest corner of the mansion. He didn't remember much of his childhood in that house but whenever he tried to, he felt a sharp pain in his entire body. He could only remember tall columns of the house, long corridors filled with unused rooms. And the face of a woman hurting him. He could only assume it must have been the mistress and how he got the scars on the back. 

He was six years old when he ran away. 

***

Newton only knew he wanted to get away from the place as far as he can. He followed the crowd until he reached the port, which he later learned was the biggest port in Handorr, the Port Kaiim. He walked up to the back street of the bar where the busboy was taking out leftover food. Hungry, Newton waited until the busboy left and rummaged through the trash to eat. He knew instinctively how to survive in the street.